Educating Elizabeth (36 page)

"That is because Elizabeth is far more intelligent than you will ever be," Gervase said. "
You
are just a paper-shuffling, money-grubbing, messenger boy for the French. What I don't understand is why this whole charade was necessary."

"I'm far more than a messenger boy! I had to develop a whole new plan after our original code breaker was killed." Sir John stuttered. "I couldn't allow Le Fleur's plans to be interrupted. I arranged for your men to discover the code and recruited Elizabeth to translate it under your very nose! It was
all
my idea."

Gervase curled his lip. "If you expect me to congratulate you for betraying your country, you must be insane."

Sir John gestured to the ruffian beside him. Gervase braced himself as the man stepped forward and drove his meaty fists into Gervase's unprotected body. If he hadn't been held up, Gervase feared that he would have fallen to his knees. He fought to retain his balance as pain ripped through his battered ribcage and belly.

Sir John nodded. "Take him away. I've no further use for him." Gervase opened his mouth to speak and Sir John spoke over him. "There is no point in appealing to their better natures, Your Grace, for they have none, and I've already paid them handsomely."

He gestured to the unseen man behind Gervase. "Bind the duke's hands, Albert, and make sure you search him before you leave him to his fate."

As he was dragged toward the door, Gervase started to fight in earnest. Unwilling to submit, he dug in his heels and was rewarded by a savage jab to his kidneys. He shouted over his shoulder as the other thug closed in on him. "Am I to assume that you didn't tell the Foreign Office the assassin's correct position?"

Sir John snorted. "Do you still take me for a fool? I substituted my own directions before I took the message in." He gave a breathless laugh. "I'm the only person who knows where the assassination will take place--apart from the assassin himself, of course."

He flung open the door and watched as Gervase was half-carried through it. "Good riddance, Your Grace," he said piously. "I will enjoy managing your affairs when you are found dead. I will even continue to defend you when you are posthumously implicated and ultimately convicted for your part in the Prince Regent's assassination."

Gervase was pushed out of the back door and into the bright sunlight with such force that he went sprawling on the ground. He gritted his teeth as he was hauled up by his bound hands and bundled into a black carriage. By the look of the two men who accompanied him, Gervase reckoned he could count his remaining life in hours, if not minutes.

He had no opportunity to escape during the short journey and only had time to gulp in the salty, malodorous smell of the river before he was marched into a dank, cavernous room where his hands were untied. He rubbed at his wrists as his captors advanced toward him. Their intent to do him harm was etched on their merciless faces.

Gervase brought his fists up as one of the Brothers Grimm smashed him in the jaw. Eventually he went down, and after several agonizing kicks to his ribs and the rough removal of his coat and waistcoat, Gervase subsided, almost thankfully, into unconsciousness.

*** *** ***

It was only nine o'clock in the morning, but Elizabeth suspected she had severely ruffled Lord Vincent's composure with her incessant demands for action. She started on him again as he sat sipping tea in the private parlor.

"I've got to see the duke, my lord. I've got to tell him about the coded message."

Her companion sighed. "We have been over this a thousand times, Elizabeth. Gervase will receive the information from Jack Llewelyn just as you planned."

"But what if something goes wrong?"

"That is not your problem, my dear. I promised Gervase that I would not let you within a hundred miles of the victory parade."

Elizabeth stopped pacing and stared at him. "You promised the
duke
?"

Lord Vincent dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Devil take it," he said testily. "You are an extremely irritating woman. You must forget I said that."

Elizabeth bobbed Vincent a curtsey and ran to the door. "I should have known you were in league with your cousin. Unlike you, I
never
do what Gervase says."

Before Vincent could stop her, Elizabeth picked up her skirts and was away down the stairs and into the crowded streets below. She drew in a determined breath, plunged into the thickest part of the crowd, and headed toward the distant green shimmer of the park.

When she reached Grosvenor Square, it seemed unusually quiet, its central park deserted. No nannies played safely with their charges under the boughs of the gracious elm trees or strolled along the gravel paths. Elizabeth guessed many had gone to watch the parade and had taken their staff with them.

She ran up the steps of Delamere House and knocked. It took an age for someone to answer her summons.

When Standish finally opened the door, Elizabeth gave him a relieved smile he failed to return. "Good morning, Standish, is the duke at home?"

Standish compressed his lips. "I'm under strict instructions to deny you admittance, Miss Waterstone."

"This is a matter of great urgency. If you tell him I'm here, he
will
wish to speak to me."

"I'm sorry, Miss Waterstone but you must leave. I would hate to have to call the Runners." With that, Standish shut the door in Elizabeth's face, leaving her gaping like a stranded fish.

She uttered a most unladylike curse and kicked the brass doorplate before turning to march down the steps. As she stood there, wondering what to do next, the door opened again.

"Miss Waterstone!" Nicholas leapt down the stone steps, almost falling in his haste to reach her. He grasped her hands and pulled her away from the house.

"The duke has disappeared. According to Jacques, he went out the morning without telling anyone where he was going, and has not yet returned."

"The duke often goes out without telling anyone his destination. He is not a child."

"No, but there is something peculiar going on. Sir John disappeared yesterday. I haven't been able to find him and now the duke has gone too. It has to have something to do with Le Fleur's plot to assassinate the Prince Regent. We need to find the duke!"

Elizabeth patted Nicholas's sleeve as her mind worked furiously. She wasn't surprised by Sir John's defection, but the duke's disappearance was another matter entirely. "You need to check with Angelique that the duke is not with her and then let the Foreign Office know what has happened. Tell them to send more men to the Strand."

Nicholas agreed, seemingly glad that someone was giving him directions. "And what will you do, Miss Waterstone?"

Elizabeth smiled grimly. "I will go to see if my stepfather is at home, and determine whether the duke honored him with a visit."

*** *** ***

The door to the Foresters' house stood open and Elizabeth noticed the duke's familiar gray hat resting on the hall table. With great trepidation, she made her way up the stairs to her mother's drawing room. Her mother sat in her usual chair, wearing a deep green gown and a frothy lace cap threaded with matching ribbon. She looked up as Elizabeth appeared, her expression unwelcoming.

"Why have you come here, Elizabeth?"

"I came to see Michael, mother. I was hoping to accompany him and Mr. Llewelyn to watch the parade."

Mrs. Forester poured herself a cup of tea. "I'm afraid you have missed them. They set off at dawn to make sure of a good spot, as did your stepfather and sister."

Elizabeth backed toward the door. If Jack Llewelyn and Michael
had
left at dawn, would they have had a chance to relay her message to the duke?

Pinning on a self-assured smile, Elizabeth curtsied. "I didn't mean to bother you, mother. I'll just pop down and make sure they haven't left me a note, and then I'll be off."

She opened the door and gasped as Sir John Harrington appeared and barred her exit.

"Oh no, Miss Waterstone. You are not going anywhere. I've a bone to pick with you. Your constant meddling has made the duke question my judgment and my loyalty."

She stiffened. "I don't know what you are talking about, Sir John."

"Oh, I think you do." Sir John took hold of Elizabeth's elbow. "You tried to undermine me with the duke and he was so enamored of you that he almost chose to believe
you
over
me
."

"You are a fine one to talk, Sir John. You left Angelique's stolen bracelet in my reticule," she countered. "You made sure that the duke cast me out on the street. I've no influence with him at all. Why do you think I came back here?"

But Sir John refused to release her. In desperation, Elizabeth looked at her mother, who sat sipping calmly at her tea. "Mother, Sir John is not what he seems. He is in league with Mr. Forester. You must find the duke and..."

"Did you know that Sir John is a distant cousin of mine, Elizabeth?" Mrs. Forester asked. "We were both left penniless by our families."

Mrs. Forester rose from her chair and glided toward Elizabeth. "Did you think I knew nothing about what was going on in my own house?" She smiled up at Sir John. "Your stepfather is an amiable man and he has proved useful as a messenger between Sir John and myself, but that is all he has done."

"You knew about the assassination attempt?" Elizabeth whispered.

"Of course I did, Elizabeth. Sir John and I have been working to achieve the Prince Regent's demise for over a year now. I knew when our original code breaker died that we would need to find a replacement and who better than my own flesh and blood? I would have sent Michael, if he had been able, but you proved very satisfactory my dear." She laughed. "You even persuaded the duke into your bed, which distracted him from his duties. I couldn't have done better myself."

"Why did you do it, mother? Why did you betray your country?"

Mrs. Forester arched one perfect eyebrow. "Why? For money, of course. Sir John has to work for a living, despite his title and noble name. Mr. Forester and I have a position in society to maintain and Mary deserves her choice of suitors."

Elizabeth shook her head, unable to speak in the face of such implacable avarice. Her disgust must have shown because her mother stiffened.

"Sir John, seeing as Elizabeth is so anxious to see the duke, why don't you take her to him?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest, but the unseen blow to her head sent her helplessly spiraling toward oblivion.

Elizabeth came to her senses as a familiar voice, roughened with desperation, repeatedly called her name. For a long dazed moment she stared at the curved, brick-lined ceiling above her and tried to remember where she was. At last, she sat up with a gasp and put her hands to her head to suppress the unpleasant sensation that her skull was about to explode. A wave of nausea shuddered through her and the floor undulated beneath her feet.

"Elizabeth? Are you all right?"

She gathered her senses as best as she could and took a wary survey of her surroundings. The tunnel-like room sloped down toward the river, where large rusted bars clogged with weeds and refuse allowed water to seep through in a steady trickle. On the opposite side, five steep steps led to a door set high in the wall. In the shadow of the steps, she made out the outline of another figure. Still unable to find the courage to test her legs, she crawled toward the motionless form.

The duke lay against the wall, his hands tied above his head, his booted legs stretched out in front of him. He wore no coat or waistcoat and his linen shirt was dappled with filth and what appeared to be the imprints of bloody fists and boots.

"Thank God." The duke's harsh words drew Elizabeth onwards until she knelt at his feet. His left eye was half-closed and blood ran down his cheek, soiling the front of his shirt. When he tried to speak, his breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the echoing space. "I thought they had killed you."

Elizabeth touched the back of her head and winced. "I think Sir John hit me whilst I was talking to my mother."

The duke groaned. "I should have known Vincent would never be able to hold you. Did you follow me to the Foresters?"

Elizabeth sniffed. "I went to Delamere House first, but Standish told me you were not at home and that he was not to divulge your whereabouts to anyone, especially me."

The duke grimaced and glanced up at his bound hands. "I make you my apologies, I was unavoidably detained. Can you free my arms?"

Without further thought for her thundering headache, Elizabeth stumbled to her feet. She steadied herself against the damp brick and breathed in the mingling smells of mildew and rank tidewater.

A rope was knotted around the duke's wrists and efficiently tied to an iron stake in the wall. Elizabeth tugged at the rope and the duke hissed a curse. Fresh blood ran down from his wrists to soak his sleeves. Elizabeth slid back down to the floor and studied him. Under the filth that covered his face he was as pale as milk curds.

"I don't think I can loosen the ropes, Your Grace. They are tied too tightly for me to work them free."

"Devil take it, woman, I know they are tight. I've been trying to get out of them for the past few hours!"

"There is no need to be rude, Your Grace," she fired back. "I'm not the one who put you in this predicament."

"You bloody well are!"

A sonorous clanging from the city's bells echoed along the dank subterranean passageway, mirroring the faint, rumbling roar of the crowd overhead.

"It is two o'clock," said the duke after the noise had ebbed a little. "The Prince and his fellow sovereigns are due to pass along the Strand in about an hour." He glanced at Elizabeth, his jaw set. "They didn't bother to lock the door after they brought you in here. They probably assumed you wouldn't recover from that blow to your head for hours. It might be better for you to leave me here and go and find help."

Elizabeth contemplated the duke's words. Had her mother knowingly sent her to her death? The thought was too horrific to contemplate, so Elizabeth pushed it away. She fixed her attention on the large, grated opening that allowed into their prison the dappled light reflecting off the river. Water was now gushing through the bars, lapping at the edge of the brick floor, turning it a dark, bloodstained red.